


Deal

by yeaka



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Anal Sex, Ficlet, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 04:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11889918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Demyx earns his preferred missions in his own way.





	Deal

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fair warning that I’m still playing through the KH series so don’t know all its lore yet.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Kingdom Hearts or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s battered and bruised and can taste blood inside his mouth, and he _hates_ it, even if it will make for a good song. He hates the sweat and dirt of fighting, and worse the dust and sand of the Coliseum—it gets into the hollow of his sitar and ruins the sound. Worst of all, it could _break_ his sitar, break _him_ , and Demyx is bizarrely grateful to step out of the shadows into the sterile white of the lounge. He lets out a withered sigh of relief even with Xigbar and Luxord taking up the couches. He knows they already think he’s a coward, and he doesn’t care. They’re not wrong. Just stupid. Fear’s healthy, and it’s kept him alive.

It fuels him to head for the windows instead of his room, to where Saïx is standing tall in the middle. Arms cross and gaze lost in the distance, he looks particularly stern. Difficult. He used to make Demyx nervous and sometimes still does. Demyx fidgets as he gets closer, hands conspicuously missing their instrument, but he knows his sitar annoys Saïx. It annoys most of them. This is the only instance where he cares about that. 

He stops at Saïx’s side, earning Saïx’s critical eye. Demyx speaks first: “Hey, can we talk about my assignments?”

Saïx _glares_ at him. Demyx’s shoulders stiffen under it, but he doesn’t back down—he doesn’t know why Saïx looks at him like _he’s_ the only one sinning. Saïx has never had to take his bait. With a single glance at the filled couches, Saïx grunts, “Not here.”

Demyx doesn’t even get a chance to nod. Saïx is already brushing past him, and the rough way their bodies collide makes him feel vaguely like he’s being scolded. Luxord will probably think he is. Xigbar will laugh at him later and call him an array of lewd names that will make Demyx’s skin prickle but won’t get under it. He’s not proud of what he does, but he’s not ashamed either. It’s just another mission. A means to an end. A bargain that works out best for him, and he chooses to repeat it. 

He follows Saïx back into the darkness, along the winding stairs, into the wide room as devoid of any personality as the rest of theirs. Even Demyx doesn’t have much in his space, though he considers himself less emotionally constipated than his peers, heart or no. Saïx’s bed is probably the same size as his, but it looks giant. He makes a move towards it, but Saïx’s hand locks suddenly around his arm, jerking him back, and then there’s a fist in his hair and he’s being held against Saïx’s mouth. 

The kiss is brutal, fierce, and stifling—like all of Axel’s fire trapped between them. Demyx gives a whine of protest at first, just because he’d like it a _little_ softer—he doesn’t buy into the whole ‘needing pain to feel’ cliché. But he knows that isn’t Saïx, and he still surrenders. It still feels _good_. Pleasure is what makes him feel like he has a heart. Pleasure and his music. 

Saïx’s hand closes around his forearm, tight and pinching, the second hot against Demyx’s face, and long, gloved fingers wrench his jaw open. He takes Saïx’s tongue inside with a little mewl, his own hands daring to touch Saïx’s robes, but only lightly. He knows Saïx likes control. And he gives into that as much for himself as Saïx. So he only loosely holds on while Saïx digs around inside him, fingers sliding none-too-gently back into his hair again. Saïx tugs at the uneven strands, the leathery glove catching and adding to the pull. Demyx chokes, and he thinks he can feel Saïx smiling over that. 

The next thing he knows, they’re broken apart—Saïx shoves him so hard that he goes stumbling back into the bed, knees buckling over it. He topples down, then scrambles up on his arms with Saïx already descending over him. Demyx starts again, “Look, man, all this force in the bedroom is one thing, but out there—”

Saïx hisses, “Silence,” and Demyx instantly shuts up. Saïx once said that he found Demyx’s voice grating. And it was a pain to hear, but Demyx sucked it in and tried to learn. Information’s easier to use than weapons. If Saïx can’t appreciate the lilting ocean rumble of his song, so be it. He spreads his legs instead, letting Saïx come between them. 

Saïx is a mountain, not _that_ much bigger, but made so by sheer presence. He kisses Demyx back down to the mattress, and Demyx takes that as a victory—Saïx likes his mouth for _something_. Better than nothing. Demyx has almost as much pride in it as his fingers. While Saïx jerks at Demyx’s zipper, he reaches down into his pockets, searching for the little vial of oil he uses to clean his sitar. He purposely found one with this dual purpose. He has it out in his palm in the proverbial heartbeat. Then he’s rubbing it between his hands, and by the time he’s ready to use it, Saïx has ripped his coat open and tugged down the hem of his pants. With the black fabric bunched around his thighs, Demyx brings one hand to his cock, the other to his hole. 

Saïx, at least, waits through the preparation. Demyx imagines some of them wouldn’t—certainly not Xaldin, maybe not Xigbar. Zexion would let him. Axel would. Marluxia would probably volunteer to lick him out, and picturing that helps Demyx stiffen—it counteracts the harsh bites that Saïx nips into his jaw. For every spot of pain Saïx gives him, Demyx fantasizes something better—maybe Saïx himself, gloriously naked, lowered into a steaming bath. Saïx never really gets _naked_ for him. He’s walked about Saïx’s quarters in only his birthday suit, but for all he knows, Saïx’s stomach is as scarred as his face. He probably has tight abs, tighter pecs. He probably has strong, muscular thighs, a lightly dimpled ass, and at least Demyx knows how big his cock is. Demyx can feel the bulge rubbing against his own shaft as he spears himself on a second finger, gloves be damned. He’d take them off if he had time—it’d probably be easier—but he knows that as soon as his hands leave his ass, Saïx will be all over it.

He pries himself apart on three digits next, breathing hard and riding out the burn, as Saïx bites hard into his throat. He wonders sometimes if Saïx wants him to have scars. Maybe that’s why he still gets shit missions, no matter how much he protests. Unless he does _this_. Maybe he should do it more often. Maybe he should go over Saïx’s head and spread his legs for Xemnas. Xemnas is just as hot. Most of them are, in one way or another. And Xemnas could take care of him. 

But Xemnas could also destroy him on a whim, and Demyx knows Saïx a little better. Even if he doesn’t really know Saïx at all. It still seems a safer bet. So he nods when Saïx finally growls, “That’s enough.”

As soon as he’s let his fingers pull out of his hole, Saïx is grabbing both wrists and pinning them to the sheets. Demyx grunts but takes it, like he always does. Saïx sits up enough to eye Demyx’s lithe torso, bare down to his crotch. Demyx can’t help a grin; at least he looks good enough for this. Good enough to trap a leader. It’s something. 

Saïx doesn’t give a single word of praise and just hisses, “Stay.”

Demyx purrs, “You got it, boss.” Saïx’s eyes flash with warning, but Demyx keeps himself as still as if he were still being held down. He knows Saïx likes to fuck him that way. He knows those greedy hands will come back, but first they hook under his knees and hike up his legs. He’s bent in two, until Saïx is eyeing up his ass, and Demyx deliberately flexes his hole. He can feel some of the oil dribbling around the edges and down his crack. Without his fingers, it’s too empty. But he knows Saïx will make short work of that. 

When Saïx diverts his hands to his own crotch, Demyx keeps the position, even as awkward and uncomfortable as it is, his heavy boots held in the air. He watches in rapt attention as Saïx draws down his zipper and draws out his cock, long, curved, arched up and nearly wet at the purpling head. A subtle shiver runs down Demyx’s spine—he has missed this. Being filled. Being _taken_. And feeling that power over Saïx: Demyx loves getting what he wants just as much as the rest of them—he just wants different things. 

He sucks in a breath as the crowning tip is pressed against his hole, rubbed in once, and then it stabs inside, and Demyx tosses his head back against his hood, howling. Saïx growls a warning, but Demyx barely hears it—he _can’t_ be quiet at times like this, with Saïx’s thick cock pushing fast inside him. It’s burning hot and rock hard, and he can feel every little pulse against his stretched-open walls. His fingers claw into the sheets, fisting there but staying where they were put, while Saïx thrusts steadily deeper. He doesn’t take any breaks to let Demyx adjust, but Demyx knows he’s still holding back. Saïx would probably spear Demyx all in one horrid thrust if he could, if it wouldn’t leave Demyx limping too badly for missions. And, of course, Demyx is unshakably sure that Saïx wants this at least good enough for Demyx to return.

Demyx will. He always will. He wants his missions his way, and he wants to fuck like he has a heart to race for it. Saïx fills him to his limit, rubs that sweet spot inside him, and rams into it again for good measure. Demyx nearly cries himself hoarse. Then Saïx’s hands are back around his wrists, pinning him down as though he needs it. His knees stay pressed against his shoulders, his thighs flat against Saïx’s strong body. Saïx grinds into him before slowly pulling back, leaving him to whimper and croon.

The next thrust is just as merciless, and Demyx’s scream is only fractionally softer. Saïx bites across his adam’s apple as though to silence him for good, but Demyx only whines louder for it. He’s horribly vocal as Saïx sets into a steady, precise rhythm, always at that one angle that sets stars behind Demyx’s eyes. The _ecstasy_ overtakes the brutality. It’ll be worth his ass being sore in the morning. He’ll think of this when he touches himself next, and he’ll wonder if that knowledge would make Saïx pleased or angry.

He doesn’t even try to kiss Saïx again, because he’s busy screaming, but Saïx captures his mouth probably just to end that. They’ve probably woken half the keep. Demyx doesn’t care. In the moment, he just cares about Saïx’s stiff cock sliding into him and his own throbbing member trapped against Saïx’s stomach. He’d touch himself if he dared. But he doesn’t, and Saïx doesn’t make any move to, so Demyx just concentrates on the exquisite beat in his ass. 

It’s enough. Demyx’s is barreling towards his end before he’s ready, and he tries to clench and drag Saïx down with him, delighted when it works—Saïx hisses his release first. The burning rush of seed is just starting to spray Demyx’s channel when he cries out and arches up, bursting against his own stomach and Saïx’s robes. Saïx doesn’t acknowledge it at all, just keeps slamming in, pumping more cum into Demyx’s abused ass. He takes it in a fluttering haze of orgasmic bliss. He can feel Saïx’s see pounding deep inside him and being dragged just as far out, bubbling up around the edges of his hole and slicking down his cheeks. It’s amazing.

And he’s giddy about it right to the end, where Saïx pulls out with a begrudging pop, leaving Demyx to whine at the emptiness. Saïx lifts up enough to let Demyx’s legs bend back where they belong. Then Saïx is collapsing on top of him, ridiculously heavy for someone with no substance to their being. 

Demyx struggles for breath in the aftermath. But he doesn’t dare shove Saïx off. He waits, letting them both come down, and the nervousness starts to creep back in—that was the fun part. Then there’s negotiation. 

Eventually, he mutters, “So... only recon from now on, yeah?”

The magic’s broken. Saïx lifts up on both arms to stare down at him, in that sort of piercing way that makes Demyx squirm. Saïx corrects, “For a week.”

Demyx frowns. A part of him wonders if Saïx does this on purpose to make him return. And sometimes, when he looks into Saïx’s eyes soon after _this_ , he thinks he can see something _else_ , and maybe Saïx doesn’t want to risk him. But then it’s gone just as fast, and Demyx is disposable again. 

He looks at Saïx’s lips, hoping maybe for a post-coital kiss, but Saïx just lifts up properly and climbs off him. Saïx’s weight is barely gone before he says, “Get out.”

Demyx obeys. Maybe he’d like to stay, though he tries not to think about it. He tucks his flagging cock back into his pants and lets his coat hang open, making sure the vial’s back in his pocket and wiping his gloves off on his knees. He looks a mess, but whatever. Saïx’s cum trapped inside him is his temporary battle scar. 

He gets up and wanders for the door despite the pain in his rear. But he stops there. He looks back to say, even knowing Saïx won’t hear him: “You’re wrong about Nobodies.” He means about hearts and making love, but Saïx doesn’t look interested, so he doesn’t try to explain. Just leaves. 

He heads back to his own room to play bittersweet but triumphant songs.


End file.
